


A Woman of Leisure

by Huntress77



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Double Penetration, False Identity, Multi, Murder, Threesome - F/M/M, lovemaking, solo hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24418078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress77/pseuds/Huntress77
Summary: This is a sequel toAn Education Long Delayed. Sex and murder as coming of age story.
Relationships: Will Graham/Abigail Hobbs/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 18





	A Woman of Leisure

**Author's Note:**

> Another product of Coronavirus Creativity Time, and proof that my tendency toward procrastination has nothing to do with not having enough time.

  


Abigail Hobbs craned for a look at the head buried deep in the V of her legs, as deep down as it could possibly go. Glossy hanks of brown-blond hair that never quite seemed to separate into individual strands stood at angles from where her fingers had gripped earlier and teased the tenderest of points on her inner thighs. She was normally a little ticklish there, just under the panty line, but what was happening a couple of inches lower (higher?) was the All-Distraction. The surreal but blissful sensation of a tongue wriggling around inside her sent queer, jerky little tremors skipping through her legs, each one ending in a split-second curling of toes.

She could only catch glimpses of broad forehead as it bobbed up and down, though. With a soft, labored groan, Abigail let her head fall back to the mattress. Will, crouched just above her, lowered his lips for an upside-down kiss. He cupped her chin and tilted it back hard, the other hand sliding down to her clavicle to play in the bone-dimple there. She moaned louder, clenching with the effort of not squirming under the battering onslaught, and Will's return moans vibrated in her throat as if they were own. 

Hannibal began to move his mouth in slow, heavy circles, his hands running down her thighs and knuckles coiling around to stroke the baby-soft inner skin. As Will shifted forward to let his hands travel to her breasts, the tip of his cock pressed into her, the slit winking against her shoulder blade. Somehow, just knowing he was that aroused tipped her off a cliff. Hannibal, correctly interpreting her sudden intake of breath, pressed down on her pelvis to restrain its wild attempts to pulverize his face. Her legs compensated by scooting forward under his arms. 

Afterwards, he allowed her a few moments of relief, then several swirls of the tongue gave her a quick chaser to follow the main event. Abigail rolled over onto a cool patch of duvet and lazily observed the two men as they turned their attention to each other. As feral as she could be, Will and Hannibal kissed each other with a kind of hunger she had never seen in anyone else; couldn't even imagine feeling herself. The savagery of what passed between them, though not physically violent, was equal parts unsettling and exhilarating.

Feeling much replenished, she flipped onto her stomach and propped her chin up, feet playing above her in warm eddies from the open window as she studied the master class before her. Hannibal tried to push Will to the mattress, but he pushed back, spinning Hannibal down in a tangled helix of ivory sheet and flushed skin. His perfect submission pushed Abigail past lust and into fascination.

Hannibal's eyes stared sightlessly through her, consumed by some inner vision that had room only for the man lying atop him. She'd never seen him less than totally aware and in control of his environment. Now he lay limp as Will claimed every inch of him with hands, lips, tongue and teeth. Well, limp except for his dick, which bulged lurid shades of pink and purple. Will dragged his own dick down Hannibal's stomach, leaving a glistening trace of precum as proof of its passage, and nestled it next to the pink and purple spire.

He ground against it, roughly turning Hannibal's face to make him look into his eyes. First, his hips lowered, then his torso, and finally his head, as if he needed ever more more points of contact to sate his greed. Both sets of eyes were blissfully, serenely shut now, two faces cradling each other like halves of a locket, their gasps as free as if they were the only people in the world.

And, belatedly, Abigail remembered that this was arousing. She lifted her head from her hands and pulled herself forward a bit, the front of her body sliding over glossy duvet. She fell back as Hannibal abruptly took charge, shoving Will off his body so he could turn it face-down onto the towel laid out for easy cleanup and spread his legs. The command was clear.

Will grabbed twice at the drawer handle on the bedside table, yanking it open on the second try and impatiently slicking first his cock, then Hannibal's hole, with lube. Homemade lube. The lavender scent was absent from this batch, replaced by a scent that Abigail didn't recognize. Whatever it was, it was strong and sharp, reinvigorating the tingle in her groin. She slid forward again to smell and to look.

His cock slipped in easily, a different kind of locket. Will stretched out on Hannibal's back- again with the contact- and buried himself deep in a generous helping of round, supple ass. Their flesh was so slippery, he had to splay his arms to avoid losing his perch. As his hips drove straight up and down, she found that the rocking of the mattress created friction between her naked skin and that smooth fabric. Her breathing became a bit hectic, echoing in her ears but drowned out as soon as it left her nostrils. 

Hannibal drew his knees up under him and grunted, levering his ass into the air. The move forced Will up onto his own knees, where he grabbed his lover's hips and pulled them back, fingers leaving white spots in the flesh with each tug. He pounded so fast and hard that the other man's entire body shook with the force. Hannibal streched his arms out in front, giving him the purchase needed to push himself back onto Will's cock in flawless rythmn with thrusts and tugs. Ferocious growls shook loose from his throat. The apparent helplessness of a few minutes before was nearly a dream, replaced by a bestial virility. 

Will's dick disappearing into Hannibal again and again. Hannibal's dick bouncing beneath him like an udder. It was the most gorgeous thing Abigail had ever seen. Literally breathtaking, in fact. She wanted to reach out and stroke, but the idea of interfering struck her as almost sacriligeous. 

That was when a different kind of heat began to germinate inside her. Jealousy. What was happening a few inches from her face was more than just pleasure. The pleasure was electric, a feeling she was well acquainted with, but something more important was happening and she couldn't quite grasp it. Her frustation flowed into the same channel as her arousal, the one somehow heightening the other.

She crossed her legs above her rump and buried her face in the bedding. Then there was just the sounds. The faint _squeak_ of the bedsprings. The wet **crack** of pelvis against ass. Growls mingling with Will's higher, more keening cries. Convulsive coming.

When it was all over, any hope of her reaction going unnoticed was dashed as Will asked, "Did you enjoy yourself?" He clearly wasn't talking to Hannibal, though he didn't sound upset either. His tone was closer to amusement, which struck a spark of rebellion in Abigail. 

She looked up to face them. "What does it feel like?"

"What does what feel like?" Will prodded. 

"Being penetrated there."

He exchanged an inscrutable look with Hannibal. It must have communicated something, because Hannibal said, "It can't be described, only experienced."

The damp at the V's vertex, the residue of her passion, was still warm and slippery. "Do you think I should experience it?"

"Anal sex won't feel the same for you. You're not built like us. But it can certainly be made pleasurable for you, if this is an experience you would like to have."

Her chin went back onto her folded hands. "Remember what you told me about ancient scholars and their proteges?"

Hannibal cocked his head. "I remember I told you quite a lot about them."

"In ancient times, education was considered a leisure activity. It was only for those who could afford to indulge. I guess I'm nothing if not a woman of leisure these days."

***************

_Being dead can seriously fuck with your future plans. Up until a few months ago, it was 110% impossible for Abigail to go to college. Colleges tended to want high school transcripts, and hers were a) incomplete and b) attached to a dead girl's name. Even getting a job was risky for as long as she was Abigail Hobbs._

_Hannibal had more than kept up her education, as much for its own sake as out of hope of finding a perfect match for her soon. His diligence paid dividends the night one of his contacts in European academia called. She was an American girl of similar hair, eye and skin color, with grades good enough to get Abigail into almost any institution of higher learning she desired, but the final nail in her (figurative and literal) coffin was her estrangement from her family. Abigail herself had befriended the prospect to confirm her sorry backstory._

_The three of them had driven up to Strasbourg, France together and broken into the student apartment together. Together, they had lain in wait. And when the unlucky girl from the wrong side of the tracks had arrived home, they had swarmed like a pack of wolves, destroying her so efficiently that she never even cried out._

_At the crack of dawn, when everyone was either asleep in bed or passed out on someone's floor, Renee Post had left her apartment in several plastic-wrapped pieces. Her packed bags had gone with her. Local law enforcement called her a runaway. So did the few family members who bothered to care._

Abgail strode confidently into the alley, high heels lending her something approaching a runway strut. She paused as the boy attached to her hand applied some brake. "What's wrong?" she asked in far more fluent Italian than she could manage when she'd first arrived. True, she still had a strong American accent, but the boy said he thought it was cute.

He joked, "You're not going to kill me, are you?"

That brought a grin to her face. "I'll _show_ you what I'm going to do to you." She gave a little tug. "In private."

The instant they were out of sight behind a dumpster, Abigail leaned into her leading foot and swung the boy roughly around into the wall. 

"Hey!" he protested. 

She put one hand against his chest, pinning him to the wall, and reached under her skirt with the other. "Do you know what I have under my skirt? Betcha can't guess."

"You're one crazy bitch, you know that? I don't usually put my dick in crazy, but if you're only passing through..."

"You want to see what's under here?" She whipped out a knife and plunged it into his chest. Her pincering fingers at pressure points on his throat cut off his cry, just as Hannibal had taught her, and she squeezed harder, forestalling an attempt to shove past her as she stabbed twice more.

Her mentors strolled from the inky shadows at the other end of the alley. "How did I do?" she asked with a faint tinge of sarcasm. She suspected they'd wanted to see how she handled this, and though she knew caution was the only thing keeping their ad hoc little family safe, the childish part of her that was still much stronger than she would like resented being chaperoned.

"Very well," replied Hannibal, "if a bit hasty."

Abgail wiped her blade and returned it to her garter. "If you hadn't insisted on coming with me, I could have gone back to his apartment. Had some fun first."

"Far be it from me to play the humorless curmudgeon who discourages playing with one's food." He grabbed the corpse's legs, Abigail the arms, and they hoisted it into the air with Will supporting the midsection.   
"I see why you chose him now," she grunted. "He was charming at first, but then..."

As they loaded the night's groceries into the plastic-lined trunk of their car, Will said, "I'm glad I got to see this. We may have been watching, but it's still your first solo hunt."

To her irritation, something warm and liquid welled up in Abigail's core. It pleased her to make these men proud. It always had, even when she knew she would regret it in the long run. And one thing no one could deny- moving a body was a hell of a lot easier with help.

_They had honored her, or at least her uterus. Hannibal had said it meant her rebirth as Renee Post. Rebirth tasted a bit like calamari, which suited her just fine. The thought of failing to honor her prey still made her feel hot and itchy._

_Then there were the more practical aspects of the transformation. Will had spliced her photo into the real Renee's passport well enough to pass muster in the photocopy she'd used to get a new one. She was drilled on her new biographical details every night. Hannibal and Will had even taken to calling her by her assumed name. It would be too confusing, they'd said, for her to be Abigail at home and Renee out in the world. It could cause a slip-up that might endanger them all._

_How was she supposed to tell them she was none too prepared to kill Abigail Hobbs? They had gone to extraordinary lengths to grant her a new life, a life that didn't involve rotting in a prison or a home that had become one, yet the hollow ache inside got a little bigger every time a familiar voice called her by someone else's name. That might only prove the wisdom of starting now. All she knew was that, in spite of reassurances that most things wouldn't change, Abigail Hobbs was not just a name. She was an identity._

**************

Something had to give. Night after night, Abigail walked past the room that her mentors now shared. They were her mentors at this point. Her image of them as father figures had begun to fade even before they'd left Baltimore. Perhaps that was part of growing up. Perhaps the Abigail Hobbs who had woken up in that hospital bed, her real father's handiwork carved into her throat, was always doomed to die, one way or another.

She walked past that door every night, even when tantalizing sounds escaped from the other side, and diligently used the toys that Hannibal and Will had prescribed to prepare her for her first anal experience. So far, the appeal eluded her.

Tonight, she felt ready. It wasn't just that she could take the largest toy with ease. Abigail - Renee- had received her first college acceptance letter today. The original's brief attendance at a prestigious university had had the unexpected perk of streamlining her own application process. No references, no essays, no interviews. That letter opened a door inside her, and she didn't understand what was on the other side. It simply pushed her forward, almost mindlessly.

Such were her reasons for knocking softly on the men's door, then cracking it open. Hannibal was absorbed in a book, but Will looked up expectantly.

"How do you feel?"

Expectancy turned to puzzlement.

"I mean... do you feel like trying it tonight?"

By now, Hannibal had lowered his book. "Does this mean you do?" Will asked.

Abigial nodded, hating her sudden timidity. Something in their faces drew her to the foot of the bed, confidence blooming with each step.

Hannibal stopped her with a quick hand and a shirring sound as she reached for her zipper. "Foreplay is still important, even if you won't be using your vagina." His voice held an atypical warmth that suggested humor.

She knelt on accommadating memory foam with a man on either side, clothes peeling off by the agency of one set of hands or another, one man working at her lips with the other at her neck, her shoulder, her ear. The knots of tension began to unspool in ever-more rapid succession, building a momentum that she allowed herself to pleasantly drift along with.

When all three were naked and showing an embryonic sheen of sweat, Will bluntly asked, "Which one of us do you want to penetate you?"

So unprepared for the question was she that she froze. They responded to the sudden change in her by halting themselves, leaving warm hands reassuringly next to her skin. "Uh..." She looked up at Hannibal, who was currently in front of her. "Hannibal, I guess."

The effect of her words was as instant as if a genie had heard her. Hannibal laid her out on her stomach, and that same sharp, mysterious smell came back to her through the scents of detergent and male just before she felt cold wetness on her asshole. Her quick intake of breath was held as the wetness developed into a ghost of a tingling sensation. Then Hannibal's dick was pushing the breath out of her, stretching and filling her in a way that was both familiar and foreign.

"Does that hurt?" he asked.

"No." 

He began to move languidly in and out, giving her time to contemplate a dark smudge of eye shadow on the pillow case. Her make-up for tonight was much more subtle than it had been for the solo hunt, but notably sexy. Now she wondered if this new experience was really worth all the effort put into it. A cock felt better than the toys, warm and throbbing and soft over the hard. It even felt good. Still, she couldn't see why there was so much fuss over anal sex. Maybe Hannibal and Will were right. It might simply be that she wasn't built to enjoy it the way they did.

And then Hannibal somehow shifted inside her. "Oooo-ooooh," she stuttered. Cued that he was on the right track, he began to thrust faster, the bulbous head of his dick brushing something deep, deep inside that sent an icy thrill shooting up to her scalp. _There_ was something she'd never felt before.

She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the next wave, shivering. Arms wrapped around, lifting her up, up... to Hannibal's chest. Her eyes popped open to find Will scooting into position where she had just been. Before a noise of protest could work its way free from her throat, she was released, falling against the upturned length of Will's cock. Each new thrust rocked her slick clit against it, providing a complement to the fuck.

Abigail pushed herself upright and leaned back into the broad, sculpted wall of Hannibal's chest. Hot bursts of air hit the back of her head as she ran her hands down his thighs and up to his hips, wiggling her ass. He was firmly, deliciously embedded in there now, and she reached around behind him to fill each hand with a graceful mound of flesh, feeling them flex and relax in a never ending cycle. Will's Pacific blue orbs looked up through lashes that any woman would envy. Then his tongue flicked out and slipped over kissably rouge lips.

Her head thudded helplessly back on Hannibal's shoulder as the slivers of ice in her magically turned to fire. He wrapped a large, powerful hand around her throat and compressed her windpipe. Not hard, just enough to make the blood thunder in her ears and the wind whistle in its passage. Lowered oxygen parodoxically seemed to fan the flames. The other hand, laid flat on her pelvis, angled it just so as Hannibal crashed eternally into her like the surf against a cliff face. Those growls were back too, feeding into the side of her neck. 

Abigail tensed, bucked and propelled the sound of her orgasm explosively past the tight fingers trying to contain it. The hand around her throat relaxed and she sucked a few fingers into her mouth, sighing through the afterglow. Sex was goddamn **amazing**. Why had she waited so long to study the subject?

Hannibal's chin poked over her shoulder and she looked down, curious what had grabbed his attention. Will had cock in hand, now shining with her wet, pushing the head between her labia. There was a split-second of resistance, then, all at once, he was inside her. Another wordless communication passed between Will and Hannibal, who partly withdrew and drizzled more lube on his dick. 

Both men, as if choreographed, speared to her core with a sharp thrust. The sensation was so unexpected that Abigail couldn't make a sound, couldn't move. Her mouth just gaped and worked in a way that would embarrass her when she was once more able to feel shame. She could _feel_ their cocks meet, rubbing up against each other with only a thin membrane of her flesh as barrier. They moved slowly in and out, allowing her to adjust as the living tissue, hot and moist and yielding, was gently rolled between two cocks. It was like having an internal massage, a feeling simultaneously delightful and alarming. And at last came the sound. "Oooo-ooooh."

She relaxed into it by degrees, her breath growing less harsh and more ragged as the icy slivers returned, triggering an uncontrollable shake. They rutted against each other _through_ her. Length slid along length. Pelvic movements were transmitted through hers to his. In a life that was lately full of such adventures, it was the most intimate experience she had ever had. 

Abigail swayed back and forth, defying their attempt to control the rhythm. When it dawned on her that she didn't need to move her entire body, everything clicked into place with a sudden rush. Her hips ping-ponged from one obligingly stilled dick to the other. In was out, then out was in. An imaginary strap slowly tightened around her loins, constricting the muscles, and she gritted her teeth, moans growing louder until they crested over the masculine voices that seemed to surround her and washed them away.

The showers of sparks that erupted from her brain at the moment of climax, red and orange and white, prickled at the the insides of her eyelids. She reached up to rub them, then collapsed onto Will's waiting chest, now drifting, rather than rocketing, through her private bliss. Damp musk flooded her lungs like earthy dew. As she marshalled deep, steadying breaths, two cocks still meeting inside her, a new tingle began to spread almost immediately. It fluttered through her pulse and skipped across lobster-pink skin. A soft groan escaped and the tip of her tongue escaped with it, to taste the salt on Will's chest. 

She undulated gently atop Will, feeling Hannibal slide deeper into her body as he moved to rest on top of _her_. It was like being in the world's sexiest panini press. The heat crushing in on her from both sides melted her, penetrating her along parallel tracks. She ground downward. So deep, so full...

In spite of the sticky, soporific heat, Abigail rocked hungrily, Hannibal shadowing her movements with the skill of long practice. Only when the final quake settled did the men come. Experience had taught her that not all men had that much control - or any. She'd have to ask them how they did it. That would come in handy at university, far from the training wheels on this bed.

For now, she awkwardly extricated herself, feeling at once like a boiled noodle and a victorious mountain climber. Her mentors were already half-asleep, foreheads together and arms incurled, by the time Abigail Hobbs gathered her clothes and padded off to the bathroom for a shower. 

"Good night, Renee," Will mumbled.

She paused in the hallway, looking back. The comforts of what had, sometime when she wasn't looking, become a cozy nest enfolded her. This was a moment in time at which the terrors and the loneliness of the world felt like a childhood nightmare. She would miss this place. She would miss Will and Hannibal, even if they were only a few hours away. But that was overpowered by a sense of excitement for what the future might bring. 

Finally she whispered, "Thanks, Will." Just when you think there's nothing left to learn...

  



End file.
